Rosie Watson's Book of Lonely People
by Servant of Fire
Summary: AU Series 3/AU TAB: There was no Moriarty video at the end of S3. Instead, Sherlock went away. For 10 years. Rosie Watson grows and thrives and her parents couldn't be prouder of her. When Rosie starts making portraits of the homeless people she visits , John recognizes one of them as his best man. What does Mary know about it?
1. Chapter 1

**Rosie Watson's Book of Lonely People**

 **AU Series 3/AU TAB:** There was no Moriarty video at the end of S3. Instead, Sherlock went away. For 10 years. Rosie Watson grows and thrives and her parents couldn't be prouder of her. When Rosie starts making portraits of the homeless people she visits volunteering with Auntie Molly in Angelo's Kitchen, John recognizes one of them as his best man. What does Mary know about it? Will Rosie save her strange friend before something terrible happens to him?

Sadness paves the streets that Rosie walks down every day at 3 bells to join schoolmates in the aftercare park. She waits on this street corner for her Daddy to get done at his doctor's practice. There she paints her portraits in the chalk lines of schoolyard exile.

Every day at 3 bells, Rosie watches as her muses come shuffling down the street. Auntie Molly has taught her about all the lonely people. They all have names and faces. Each and every one has a beautiful story. They all deserve a 'hello'.

This afternoon, Rosie is bored. It's taking her Dad too long to get done with work. Mum hasn't come to pick her up instead. And her aftercare teacher is tied up on the phone with that bloke she calls a boyfriend, though he knows 12 other ladies.

"Eleanor Rigby died in the church and was buried -with her name-lada!" Rosie had forgotten the words. Sometimes she sang for coins. She would always give them to Old Mrs. Anna at the edge of her playground. Today she had forgotten the words. She was half beside herself trying to remember them, when someone, like a bolt out of the blue, decided to help her:

"-Nobody came! Father Mackenzie, wiping the dirt from his hands as he comes from the grave-No one was saved!" A deep baritone echoed down the street corner, cracked by smoke and thirst. Rosie's head popped up. She giggled. Anna clapped, never have expected a duet for her afternoon charity.

"All the lonely people, where did you just come from?" Rosie sang, holding her hands out to the man. So well put together with his dark coat and blazing eyes is he. She thinks that he's one of the school's new teachers.

"All the lonely people, dear, to whom do you belong?" The man sang stepping closer and kneeling in front of her. Anna laughed. Rosie thinks suddenly that this dark-haired man with the soft silver around his ears is somewhat familiar from a photograph or something.

"Hello! And you're good, mister!" Rosie clapped. He smiled.

"Start again, girl, you've got quite the crowd stirred up." He stands up, nodding to a gathering of the passerby who is rather intrigued by this unlikely pair. The man reaches under his coat flap and produces a violin case. Rosie claps.

"What fun! So much lunch for Mrs. Anna today!" Rosie slid her chalk box closer and stood up on it. The man put the bow to strings and waited for Rosie. She shook her head, wondering where on earth he'd come from.

"Ah! Smile for all the lonely people!" Rosie sang from her heart. The man played from his soul.

Finally, the song faded into silence.

"Mister! Bravo, sir! Bravo. Are you with the new school choir?" Rosie leaped from the chalk case, applauding loudly. Coins had overfilled the paper cup she'd set by the slide. The man smiled, mustached lip turning upward like a kitten's smirk.

"No...I'm just like Anna." Sherlock smiled at the old woman. Rosie grew quiet.

"Oh! Oh, then you should take some of the coins, then, mister?"

"Call me Sherlock." He winked. She covered her mouth.

"My daddy...My daddy had a friend named Sherlock once. A long time ago. He used to talk about him, but he never said where he went." Rosie smiled.

"I remember your Dad. Did you know that you have his eyes?" Sherlock knelt in front of Rosie for a moment longer, smiling so sweetly and sadly that Rosie felt the music in her heart weep for him somehow.

"Well, where did you go then?" Rosie came closer to the lonely man. Sherlock looked up then.

"Here comes your Mum, love. You should go home now." Sherlock smiled kindly at the child. She wondered for a moment what he was like. Why, if he was Daddy's friend, could he not come over for tea?

"Sherlock! You're a fine singer. Truly wizard, mister. Please do come by for tea one afternoon, will you?" Rosie folded her hands prayerfully.

"Rosie! Come here!" Mary's voice was harsh. Sherlock stood up, gathering his violin into his case.

"Off you go. Ah, Anna. These are for you, I believe." Sherlock gathered the coins and took them to the aging woman.

"Rosie, who was that?" Mary peered over the steering wheel, face drawn and cross as Rosie flopped into the car, chalk box, drawing book and school bag all in tow.

"Dad's old friend. Sherlock! I'd never met him. He helped me get coins for Mrs. Anna. Say, can he come for tea?" Rosie smiled. Mary sighed.

"Rosamund, dear...Uncle Sherlock died. He was shot a long time ago. That bloke's just a nutter lives on the streets around here. I told you to stay close to your teachers…"Mary shook her head.

Sherlock was standing staring after the car. Rosie swallowed, Mary's words had stung her, but she couldn't quite yet believe them. She waved gregariously in the lonely man's direction.

He waved back, seeming so lost. That was the day that Rosamund Watson vowed that strange man, nutter bloke or not, would be her friend. This is where our story begins.


	2. Chapter 2

**Tea time with a Mad Hatter:**

She expects him this time. Why she doesn't know. Somehow, she feels like this was meant to be.

"Hello! I've waited for you long enough!" Rosie hops up and down as she sees the tail of a long dark coat flicker around the corner. Sherlock looks up, stunned as if he hadn't been expecting her to see him.

"Mrs. Anna's not here today! Oh, and, Mum wouldn't let me invite you for tea, so I thought we'd have tea here in the park. You know, I brought Daddy's thermos, full of hot water. He doesn't know a thing about it. There's also enough for two cuppas, I've the bags here. Come on!" Rosie knew she was chattering and that was impolite. Yet, she was eager to talk to the friendly and peculiar man who had been her father's friend, once upon a time.

She sets the thermos down on the bench table where Anna usually sits. Sherlock's jaw pops wide open. His eyes dart around the whole table, and Rosie wonders what all he's thinking.

"My Mum says you're mad, by the way." Rosie twirled her finger around her ear. Sherlock grins now.

"Oh, Mad as a Hatter, dear. But you knew that, didn't you, Alice? It's why we're about to have a tea party, mm?" Sherlock sits at the table. Rosie sniffs.

"Good book, that. Simply dreadful cartoon, though. My Daddy reads me the book sometimes. But my name's not Alice, silly. It's Rosie."

"Rosie? Is that short for Rosamund? It's logical. You're named for John's mother." Sherlock smiles. Rosie's turn to pop her jaw wide open.

"Oh, wow. You're clever, huh? I never tell anybody my whole name you know. It's an old lady name. Which tea would you like? I have some of the Lady Grey and some of this smelly herbal soother that Mrs. Hudson likes. 'Fraid that's all there was to sneak past Mum this morning. You know the poor dear Mrs. Hudson is old and blind now? Shame isn't it. I love her." Rosie chatters as she struggles with the thermos cap. Sherlock smiles.

"I did know. Visited her. She didn't remember me. May I help you?" Sherlock extends a bruised hand. Rosie smiles.

"Yes, please. My hands are so little! Say, but yours are quite hurt. Have you been in trouble?" Rosie tilts her head as Sherlock wrenches the thermos open. He passes it back to her and she pours the now lukewarm water over their tea.

"Oh, well, I am always in some form of trouble. I am a detective." Sherlock smiles, taking the cup offered him, which is the Lady Grey as the herbal soother is rather impolite to offer a guest, in Rosie's opinion. She slaps the table.

"Is that right? Wow, what a job! That's much better than being a Doctor. My Daddy's a doctor, and I think it's boring. Would you teach me to become a detective?" Rosie tilts her head, noticing how Sherlock is looking all around the park. The after-school teachers are not watching Rosie at all.

"Oh, well, it's rather dangerous work. So, we'd have to be discreet. You know, no dangerous cases until you're older." Sherlock grins. Rosie nods and sips her tea, careful not to make icky faces as that might also be quite rude.

"Mm, fair enough. Have you always been a detective? Oh, so that's where you've been then? Why did my Mum say you died? Do people think you're dead? Oh, that's spooky!" Rosie covers her mouth. Sherlock looks sad now. They are quiet for a moment as Sherlock eagerly drinks the tea, as if he hasn't had anything, food or drink, in days.

"Do your teachers ever watch after you?" Sherlock sounds annoyed as he eyes the aftercare program workers.

"Never." Rosie laughs at Sherlock's narrowing eyes.

"A bit scary, that. Anyone could come up to you and do you harm. They've not seemed to notice me at all and I'm a bum. I only represent a fraction of the unaccounted for in London's criminal byways. I've done my own analysis to be certain at least 25% of the denizens of this neighborhood are criminal. That's just here you know." Sherlock pinches the bridge of his nose in disgust.

"Oh, don't say that one bit. You're a rather nice bum. But I agree, some people are scary. My Daddy told me to look out for the nutters. See, that's why it makes no sense Mum says you're a nutter because you're clever. I like clever people best." Rosie drinks more tea. Sherlock studies her, amused.

"You sound so much like your father when you talk." He smiles.

"You and my Daddy were very good mates, then, right?" Rosie smiles. Sherlock nods, somberly.

"So, maybe I'll ask him if you can come for tea." Rosie knows this might be an awkward thing to say. Why hasn't Daddy asked Sherlock himself?

"Mm, but maybe your Mum's right. Maybe I'm a nutter." Sherlock shrugs.

"Fair enough, but at least let me draw your picture." Rosie pulls out her drawing book. Sherlock smiles.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock studies as the child is quickly gathering all her supplies to the workstation.

"Oh, so I can always recognize you. See, it's like this. Mum won't let me have a camera until I'm 12. I'm only 10 now! It's bloody well not fair. But I like to keep fresh images of every lonely person I meet, so I draw their portraits. I'm not a half bad artist. My Daddy says I could win a magazine contest if I try hard enough." Rosie chatters as she draws Sherlock's sketch.

"You yourself are rather clever, dear. I'm sure you could be many things. It's good to meet you, at last." Sherlock sounds sadder now if that's possible.

"By God, I will see to it that eventually Mum says you can come for proper tea, nutter or not. Then I can share biscuits. You should never have tea without biscuits. Not even a nutter deserves that." Rosie taps her pencil furiously on the table.

"That's incredibly kind of you, Rosie Watson." Sherlock smiles. Rosie tilts her head.

"What's your proper name then? I'm a Watson, but you didn't say what your whole name was?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Wow! THE Sherlock Holmes? The bloke from the Reichenbach story?! I did a paper on it in school. And when I did, my Daddy cried. I never could get him to explain why. He just said the story made him sad and my writing made him happy…" Rosie grows respectfully quiet.

"As far as I know, there's only one Sherlock Holmes. So, yeah. I mean, could you imagine any other unfortunate people with such a ridiculous name?" Sherlock wrinkles his nose. To which Rosie giggles.

A car suddenly pulls into the neighborhood. Sherlock stands and smooths his coat collar.

"There's your Dad now, Rosie, dear. You should go home now." Sherlock smiles wistfully at the child. She is suddenly agitated.

"Oi! Why not stay and say hello to him? Does he...Oh, but he thinks you're dead, doesn't he?! Oh, wow...That's...That's really spooky…" Rosie chews her fingernails.

"Well, we shouldn't probably upset him with seeing me. For now anyway. Thank you very much for the tea. You are truly an exceptional young lady, Miss Watson." Sherlock bows as if he's one of those old gentlemen. Rosie starts stuffing all her things into her school bag, except the half-finished drawing.

"Will I see you around then?" Rosie tilts her head. Sherlock smiles.

"Well, I can't leave you here to fend all alone, now can I? Not with the incompetence of your nannies." Sherlock nods dismissively at the teachers. Rosie smiles.

"Rosie, girl! It's Dad! Come on then!" Rosie's head snaps in the direction of her father's cheerful voice. When she turns, Sherlock is already walking away, back the way he came.

Rosie sighs. Then, she runs to Daddy who is coming her way now. Walking again with that dreadful cane. She wonders why he only has to use it some of the time.

"Rose! Hallo, love!" John holds out his hands as Rosie, giggling, runs and dives into his arms.

"What's all this? Did you nick my thermos, you silly girl?" John laughs as he hears the thermos and its lid sloshing around with Rose's school things.

"Well, I had a guest. We had tea. And I drew his picture." Rosie points to her drawing book.

"Hmm? A boyfriend? Now, Rosamund, we talked about this. Boyfriends have to meet Dad first. Let's see him, then. So I'll know who to go hunting after." John's nose wrinkles, only half serious.

"No, Daddy! Don't be silly! Not a boyfriend. An old friend." Rosie holds up the picture proudly. John's face falls.

"Sherlock…" He breathes it as if the word isn't real.

"Yes, Daddy! Sherlock! I met him yesterday. Can he come for tea?" Rosie tilts her head. Her Dad's face is grey now.

"Where...Where did he? You mean, you were talking with him, just now? And he...He had tea with you, out of my thermos?" John puts a hand atop his greying head. Rosie feels suddenly a bit upset.

"Mm, I wish I could have had him over at our house for tea...He looks so hungry. Daddy, if Sherlock is your friend, why can't we have him for tea? Did you and Mum think he was dead all this time? She said he died a long time ago. That is so spooky! I knew that it wasn't true though. I don't know why no one ever tells me anything. I'm 10. I'm not a baby…" Rosie stops talking when she sees how upset her Dad is. John is biting his nails.

"Daddy? Are you alright?"

John takes Rosie's hands.

"Sweetheart, let's not go home just yet. Okay, I want you to...Will you tell me everything that happened yesterday? What Mum said?" He swallows and Rosie is still a bit upset, but she doesn't know why.

"Okay. But you promise that...If we can talk some sense to Mum, Sherlock can come over? He helped me get coins for Mrs. Anna. And, he knows the words to Eleanor Rigby! Daddy...I like him, nutter or not." Rosie smiles.

John pets Rosie's hair for a moment, grinding his teeth. Then, he picks her up like he did when she was little. He tucks the cane under his arm. (Rosie still can't figure out why he only uses it some of the time.) Silently, he carries her back to the car. They drive to the cafe with the fish and chips that Auntie Molly loves so well.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sweet little lies**

Daddy is shaking when they get to the fish and chips place. Rosie picks at her sweater. She smiles at the waitress when she brings the food to the outdoor table. John can barely talk even as he pays the woman.

"Are you sure that you'll be okay?" Rosie takes John's hand. He smiles.

"Um...I will if you want me to be." He swallows, rubbing his head.

"Well, Sherlock did say seeing him would upset you. I guess that meant the picture too." Rosie frowns. John looks at her as if she's spoken Chinese for a moment. He doesn't seem to understand.

"Wait...He told you I wouldn't want to see him?" John shakes his head.

"He's weird about it. Mum was weird too. Why can't he come over? He doesn't need to be sleeping rough. He could get sick!" Rosie feels like she could cry now thinking about Sherlock alone and cold and hungry. John's crestfallen face isn't helping.

"What did your mother say exactly?" John folds both hands around Rosie's.

"She told me that the bloke I met was a nutter. That Sherlock got shot a long time ago. That he died…" Rosie tilts her head. John nods and bows his head.

"Well, we thought he wasn't ever going to come back. That he had died." John lifts his head and smiles.

"But now he is back. Your picture is so good that it proves it. And it's good because now we can find out where he's been at and bring him home." John smiles and pats Rosie's hands. Rosie wrinkles her nose.

"If Mum only thought Sherlock died, why did she pretend not to recognize him as he waited by the car for me to go with her? He said he was there to watch me because the teachers wouldn't?" Rosie frowns. John's eyes have gone extremely wide.

"Mm…"John licks his lips.

"Rosie, can you keep a secret?" John tilts his head.

"Oh, of course. I love secrets. It's like being a spy."

"I don't think we should tell Mum about Sherlock yet. Okay? At least, let's not tell Mum that I know he came back too, okay? I want to talk to Sherlock first. See what's going on. Then, I'll explain everything to Mum." John cringes. Rosie doesn't like that answer, but that's the only one she was going to get. She was 10, after all. No one ever told her anything.

"You'll have to come to get me earlier tomorrow, then. He always leaves when you or Mum come." Rosie pokes at her fish. John hums, hands still shaking.

"Right. No worries. We'll make him tell us everything. Eat up now. Mum will wonder where we are." John looks sadly at Rosie's picture again and then starts poking at his food, without much interest. Rosie wonders when her Daddy is going to tell Mum about Sherlock. Why would Mum lie like that? It's a bit spookier even than the thought that everybody thinks Sherlock's actually dead.

Not wanting to think about it, for now, Rosie eats her dinner. Still, she can't help thinking about her peculiar homeless friend for the rest of that day. She then drifts off into strange dreams that night where she and Sherlock Holmes are detectives chasing criminals all over London.


	4. Chapter 4

**An argument**

Rosie has half forgotten her promise to Daddy by breakfast. She almost tells Mum about Daddy's reaction to the picture. Then she remembers and pops her hand over her mouth. For some reason, Mum's been rather cross these last 2 days. She mutters and curses under her breath as they get ready for school.

When Rosie steps out of the car, she gets the oddest feeling. She hears the school bell ring, but she doesn't go in just yet. She turns back instead, despite her friend Penny tugging on her sweater. Because she hears Mum's voice raise.

"Sherlock?" Rosie freezes. Mum has parked beside the school, which is something Mum never does. She is always in a hurry to get to work.

"What are you doing coming anywhere near my child?" Mary's hiss is almost a shout. If Rosie was any closer to them, she might have flinched. She comes closer now, lingering by the water fountain. Sherlock shakes his head.

"I seem to recall having a hand in seeing to it that she was ever even born. Whether you approved of my methods or not. It's cost me a great deal of sorrow to see that child's first decade transpire safely. I had to make sure she was alright." Sherlock's voice is strained with anger and hurt and worry.

Mary's hands fly up.

"Leave my daughter alone. Leave my John alone. That life's behind us now. As far as John's concerned, when you went away, you didn't come back. Understand?" Mary's growl is enough to make Rosie gasp against her arm. Why was Mum being so mean?

Sherlock presses his fist to his mouth. He looks like he could cry. Which is really weird for his usually rather school teacher like somber face. Rosie feels a sudden horrible feeling that she won't see him again for a while. Maybe she should tell Daddy what she's seen happen? So he can tell Mum not to be mean? (Then again, it may only upset him more.)

"You...I know that you won't change your mind. I know that. But...She...She's not being looked after well in the afternoons. The nannies, they pay her no mind. At first, I wasn't going to come near, but then the negligence alarmed me." Sherlock bows his head, hair falling into his face.

"No amount of tears is going to change what kind of trouble is stuck to your shoes. I don't want my family caught up in the epoch of your twisted life again, Sherlock Holmes. I'm sorry…" Mum swallows as if she regrets being so mean. He looks up, lips trembling. He swallows, trying his best not to give in to the uncharacteristic emotions.

Sherlock nods. He rubs his hands over his face and nods. His almost-tears have been swallowed and now he looks so hard and old, even though he's probably younger than Mum.

"You'll...make sure she's better looked after then?"

"She's my child. Of course. That's what I'm doing by breaking ties with you." Mary's face has twisted into a scowl that is worlds away from the woman Rosie knows to be her Mum.

Sherlock nods and lifts his chin, but his voice is broken.

"You'll make sure she's given a chance? You won't be a hypocrite anymore, will you? You've meddled in my life recently, remember? The trouble's stuck as much to your shoes as it is mine, Mary Watson...Or have you forgotten that's not your real name?" Sherlock spits the words with venom. It makes his rather lovely voice a bit scary. Rosie swallows, not understanding everything she hears.

"Go to hell, Sherlock." Mary shakes her head, disgusted.

"Oh, I've already been there. Or had you forgotten? What you politely mean is for me to go back." Sherlock swallows again and puts his hands, bruised as they are, back up in fake surrender. His livid face says he's understood everything Mary means to do to him if whatever she's asked him to do or not do is not obeyed.

"I'm sure what happened was dreadful, really, but that's more Mycroft's doing than it is mine. No one said you had to intervene. You could have let me handle it." Mary shakes her fist, frustrated now.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, knowing what you now know." Sherlock's growl makes Rosie want to cry. Mary goes to her car door.

"Goodbye, Sherlock. Don't come back from the dead this time. Don't. Or I will bury you myself. Properly this time." With that Mary slams the door, and drives away breaking every speeding law London ever had.

With a soft scream into both his fists, Sherlock turns away, disappearing down the street from whichever way he'd come.

Rosie runs into school and slides into assembly. Her friends all ask her what's wrong in unison. She cries into her school bag and wishes viciously on every star she's ever seen that she'd not eavesdropped this time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Lady Lacking in Waiting:**

Rosie stood on the sidewalk at aftercare waiting for Daddy or Mum or Sherlock or God. She chewed her fingernails, impatient. He wasn't coming back, was he? Mum had sent him away. Why she couldn't hope to understand or guess at. Why or why had Mum been so cruel to her new friend?

And had any of that been true? What Mum had said? Or worse what Sherlock had said? Had he really been responsible for her being born? What had happened before she was born that was so bad he had to go away?

Suddenly, Rosie wanted to see Sherlock Holmes more than all her Christmas wishes and birthday daydreams combined. She felt a cry escape her. And she slipped her hand to her little pink-cased mobile.

I'm sorry, Daddy. I can't wait. I have to find him. Mum sent him away and he could be in trouble!-Rosie

Rosie texted frantically. She wasn't stupid. Her Dad and Mum had put a GPS tracker app on her phone. If she found Sherlock and Daddy and Mum came to find her, then they and Sherlock would be reunited whether they wanted to be or not. And that would fix all this mess. It would be just like that movie she watched with Auntie Molly. The Parent Trap.

Rosie took off running down the street in the direction she'd seen Sherlock go this morning. She wasn't afraid, for the first 20 minutes or so. She was angry and confused and scared...Suddenly, she was scared.

Yet, he had betrayed himself, Sherlock the detective turned busker had not wandered far from Rosie's school. Perhaps he'd meant to sneak back and watch her from a distance. Rosie was clever, but she still had no clue. She paused instead, watching Sherlock. She was so relieved to find him, she didn't realize he was actually performing a song for his and Anna's and Raz the Painter's dinner.

It was an Oasis song, called "Don't look back in anger" but he'd changed the words a bit:

 _Slip inside the palace of your mind,_

 _Perhaps you'll find a better place to stay…_

Sherlock's voice trailed away as he turned to his other performing friends who were singing along with him, Raz rattling a maraca to the tune of his violin playing what was once a guitar part. They were singing the original words but heard Sherlock's new version. Slowly, their faces crumpled in confusion.

 _Step outside summer's child's full grown,_

 _Come back to the old home place,_

 _Wipe that smirk from Moriarty's face,_

 _And he never did burn my heart out!-_

Sherlock kicks a picture of a crazy looking man with dark eyes. A homeless guy looks up from his sandwich and howls with laughter. Sherlock tossed his hair out of his eyes, jumping on top of a stack of yesterday's newspapers.

 _And so Sally can hate!_

 _And Mary's too late as chance passes by,_

 _England's soul slides away,_

 _But don't look back in anger-_

 _That's what Watson would say-_

Sherlock started playing a strange strain of chords that turned into some Irish jig. Raz shook his head, falling over one of his paint cans laughing until his eyes were rolling.

"Those aren't even the words to that song!" Anna was dabbing laughter-induced tears from her eyes with a little pink hankie. Sherlock nodded, as the music ceased. Pound bills had fallen into a ridiculous death Frisbee looking hat.

"Ah, well I didn't remember the actual words. I only know that John loved that song. Singing for dinner is rubbish anyway. Not a proper use of talents or intellectual capacity." Sherlock sniffed in irritation. But everyone was laughing so hard, he couldn't stay cross for long. He shrugged, at last, flashing a rare smile.

Rosie clapped, delighted. That's when Sherlock noticed her at last.

"Oh, you are good, Sherlock. Really, it may not be the best way to earn a proper meal, but you are wizard at it." Rosie felt her hands shaking now. Sherlock's face had fallen in horror.

"Rosie! Why...Why have you left the schoolyard?" Sherlock looked around, scared. Rosie swallowed.

"I couldn't...I heard Mum and I was...Is any of that true? From earlier...Why was she so mean? How come you won't visit with my Dad?" Rosie covered her mouth. Sherlock was looking her up and down as if he was putting together clues about her day...Oh, that's right, he could do that, get all kinds of details from nothing! She remembered that from her school assignment about him. (why had Mum and Dad never told her?)

"Oh, for God's sakes…"Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose. He turned to Raz, holding out a hand. Raz shrugged and dropped a pound bill in it.

"We'll get a cab and I'll take you home. You...You should never leave the schoolyard alone, dear. You could be hurt…"Sherlock's voice was a bit harsh. Rosie nodded.

"I'm sorry." Rosie was upset more by the look on his face than his tone.

"No, it's...You don't need to be sorry. But your father, he will…Ah!"Sherlock looked up then like he'd seen a ghost. Rosie flinched. She knew what that meant.

She turned slowly, to see her Dad standing by his car. He'd pulled up in a flurry, tires having rolled up on the curb. He'd jumped out of it, with it still running. His hair was on all ends, and he looked like he'd sucked a fish's insides out raw his face was so green with sick.

"I had to find him...Mum...she told him not to come back. I was scared…."Rosie bit her thumb. She'd never seen that kind of horror on her Dad's face. Her plan may have been quite bad on his nerves, actually.

Rosie waited. Sherlock and John were staring at each other in absolute horror. Sherlock nodded, putting a fist to his mouth to keep from being sick. He handed the pound bill back to Raz.

"You good, mate?" Raz held Sherlock up.

"Mm, it...Half a moment. It takes my body a bit to catch up with my brain sometimes." Sherlock shook his head. He looked back at Rosie.

"Did you...Run away from school on purpose so your Dad would have to chase after you and then come to find me as well?" Sherlock looked at Rosie, eyes blinking with scary speed.

"Parent Trap…"John breathed, putting his face in his hands, laughing and crying all at once.


	6. Chapter 6

**Strangely happy returns**

John was shaking when he lifted his head. It had been only a moment, but it felt like an eternity. Sherlock blinked, taken aback.

"Parent Trap...What is...I don't?"

"It's a movie. I watched it with Auntie Molly on Netflix." Rosie twisted her hand in her sweater.

"Ah. Suppose you won't get to watch anymore. If I'd scared my Dad this badly at your age, I'd have been grounded. No experiments for a week." Sherlock's scolding tone was not convincing. John let out a chirp.

"No, she should be grounded, but I...I don't have the heart to after all that's happened." John directed that sentence to Rosie, smiling, even though he looked like he might cry more. She ventured a smile and he kissed her forehead. Then, he turned to Sherlock, at a crisp attention.

"How long?"

"A month."

"When? When were you going to tell us you were alive?"

"I…"

"The truth, you git. You bleeding-"

"Try and keep it clean. There's a child present." Sherlock eyed Rosie.

John facepalmed and then he chuckled. By now the others were clearing off, giving them a moment.

"When, Sherlock? Answer the question, for the love of God!"

"I wasn't sure it would be best. I mean, I had caused a bit of trouble last I was here." Sherlock frowned.

"Rosie's mother wouldn't have survived to give birth to her if all that business that happened had gone differently. Do you realize that?" John's fists clenched. Rosie felt her whole body go cold.

"You mean...You saved me?" Rosie tugged on Sherlock's coat. John looked down at her. Then, he swallowed. Sherlock was getting a bit uncharacteristically emotional.

"Sweetheart, would you go shut off Daddy's car, please? I left it running. You just turn the key the opposite that it is turned, remember, like we practiced? And don't touch any of the other controls, alright? Close the door too, would you?" John shooed Rosie toward the car. She knew this meant they were going to talk grown-up things. She was a bit annoyed but did as she was asked, keeping her ears peeled to hear whatever she would.

"John…"

"You've been gone for 10 years, damn it! 10 years...That's 5 times as long as last time. They've been having annual memorial services for you, you absolute-!" John's hands opened. Sherlock put a finger to his mustache overshadowed lip.

"You know she's eavesdropping. She's 10." Sherlock smiled Rosie's way.

John gasped then and hugged his friend. Sherlock hugged him back too, face finally showing a trace of contentment. Rosie felt her eyes watering with happiness. She shut the car's door and came and leaned against the side facing the sidewalk. She wanted to watch from a safe distance so they wouldn't mince words.

"At least, this time you know why I was reluctant...Are you...How are you? My God! You've gotten old!" Sherlock leaned back and took John by the shoulders, eyes flashing over him as he was deducing him.

"And you're about to acquire two additional practices to the one you already own. Well done, Doctor Watson!" Sherlock shook his head, admiring his friend with sudden tears.

"And you're a mustachioed bum! And skinny. And sporting silver around the ears. Good God! Your breathing is rattled too, mate. I think I don't even need my kit to hear upper respiratory. What the hell do you mean hiding from me?" John took Sherlock's face in hand. Sherlock swallowed.

"I didn't want any danger to come to you. That's why I stayed away the first week. Then I couldn't help it, I tried to call you. Your wife picked up instead. I...She...Made it clear that I didn't need to come back, so I meant to honor her wishes. I thought that's what people did...They were respectful and moved on when they were told. I thought that's what you'd have wanted me to do. But then…"Sherlock looked over at Rosie. A silver tear fell down his face. Rosie felt something in her stomach flutter. And all at once, she didn't know why, but she loved him. And she realized that all this while, he had loved her. That was why he came.

"I-I...um, well...Mycroft didn't exaggerate anything that he told you about the case that made me disappear from the record. And after that, it only got worse. And the only thing that….That helped me to psychologically endure that time was the thought that life had come out of all of the madness. So, when I heard that she was grown, that it really had been 10 years...I solved my way through the obvious and learned where she went to school. I merely hoped to catch a glimpse...I wouldn't have come close. I…"Sherlock bowed his head closer to John's hand. John swallowed, upset. Sherlock was different now. Even Rosie could tell that from the few stories she'd been told about him.

He lifted his head and let out a shaky breath, retaining his composure once more. So, not all that different, maybe. John nodded, trying to urge him to continue. Sherlock swallowed.

"But the aftercare teachers weren't watching her closely enough. Incompetent both mentally and in character-pssh. Didn't notice me the closer I drew to her isolated play area. And she...Well, it didn't take the science of deduction to figure out which child on that playground was yours. You gave her your eyes and your smile. And she was beautiful...A truly exceptional...Simply perfect child. She radiated warmth and compassion and I...God, help me, John. I had to meet her. Just the once. Just to know that she'd be alright. That all of you would be alright..." Sherlock opened his fist and closed it, licking his bottom lip over and over like a cat does when it's splashed in the face with cold water. John was stunned to speechlessness then. Sherlock shook his head.

"Also, I can't be compelled to apologize for that, either. Not to you, not to your wife…. Even though it is my fault she ran off from school today, I suppose. It's just that perhaps I'm still that much of a selfish prat, but I can honestly say meeting her has made my life's longest unknown variable a solved one. Should I go for real soon, I will be at peace." Sherlock nodded, looking over his shoulder as if he was expected back somewhere. John forced him back around, to look in his face.

"She's...alive because of you. You didn't need permission." John's voice was cracked. He straightened Sherlock's collar.

"God, what the hell are you doing on these streets, you idiot?! Where did you sleep last night, mm?" John was annoyed and near tears again.

"The tent city outside Hyde Park." Sherlock frowned.

"Mm...Damn, Sherlock. You're too old for the tramp life now. And what about food then? When did you last eat?"

"Your daughter gave me tea, yesterday. Before that, I had a case so I didn't." Sherlock shrugged.

"Tea is not eating. And how long was the case?"

"Oh, ever since I've been back. Someone did hand me some Mentos and I found a leftover pizza behind what used to be Angelos. But Angelo's died since I was here last, did you know that? I suppose I am old. Also, Mrs. Hudson's gone to the old folks home and Baker Street has turned into a jazz lounge. I can't afford today's shares from busking and all the red tape with my post-Magnusson casework is still tied up in limbo. Seeing as it was a sentence of sorts, I didn't receive much of a pension. I saved what I did on private casework over the years and that only made enough to fly home. Lestrade doesn't know I'm back yet to tip me from the Yard cases and so….I'm here." Sherlock waved a hand behind himself. John shook his head.

"Rosie, dear? What would you like for dinner? You should pick for Uncle Sherlock because he doesn't know what's good." John called over his shoulder.

"John-"

"No...You need to eat. And, if I can't convince you to come home with me, you're at least renting a damn hostel or better a hotel tonight. You deduced correctly, there will be 3 practices all total. I'm good for the money. But Mary, what the hell is up with that? What did she say to you?" John's face scrunched up. Sherlock shook his head.

"Let's just say what happened to me the first time I interfered with Mary Watson's plans might happen again if I don't play her game."

"Christ, Sherlock! She's really that dead set...So, there's no talking to her, then?"

"I care a bit too much for my brain for it to be-Oh, hello again, Rose. What's this?" Sherlock cut himself off midstream. Rosie had brought him a menu.

"The best place in all the world for fish and chips! Me and Daddy go there all the time."Rosie smiled. Could she only hope that something this great was really happening and he was back in their lives?


	7. Chapter 7

**A room for Sherlock**

Sherlock barely said 5-more words to the Watsons. When they took him out to dinner, he was skittish, nervous, fretting with his sleeve cuffs. Then he ate like a hungry animal. John burst into tears, hiding them behind his hand so Sherlock wouldn't look up and see them. Rosie smiled and handed Sherlock a napkin.

"When you come to my house, you can eat anything you like anytime. So, you never have to be so hungry again. Daddy and me, we get American snacks a lot and those are my favorite. I also have these Japanese biscuits, they're very good with tea…."Rosie was chattering. Sherlock looked up, watching her face the whole while she spoke, completely transfixed. If John didn't know better, he'd say that Sherlock was in love. He just cried harder and laughed a bit at their banter, eating contentedly.

Then, John drove Sherlock to a bed and breakfast not far from the cafe.

"Now, this card's prepaid. I won't need it back. Should be enough on there for tonight anyway, and breakfast in the morning. You need to call me when you run out of money so I can help." John and Rosie walked Sherlock into the lobby. He was looking around in wonder as if he'd never seen such a clean place.

"Really, I will find a way to make it-"

"If you're about to offer to pay me back, I just might chin you." John's voice was too good-natured to be taken seriously. Sherlock smiled at him. Rosie tugged on Sherlock's coat.

"You'll need new clothes too. Say, Daddy, can we get Sherlock new pants? Those have holes in the knees. And good Lord, you're not even wearing shoes. Those are socks with tape on them. Why didn't I notice? Sherlock, dear Sherlock, that simply will not do…"Rosie started chattering, indignant about his shamed sense of fashion, the little princess that she was. John felt his heart wrenched in his chest. He had to find out why his wife was acting like she was so he could bring Sherlock quickly into his oversized home. It had a whole guest apartment that Rosie was not soon to grow into. This tramp stint was ridiculous!

"Now take a proper shower. You need to be clean so you can be healthy. Also, watch telly. Hotels are the most fun places for telly-no bedtimes!" Rosie bounced on the room's bed. Sherlock looked around in awe.

John handed Sherlock the room key. Sherlock stared at his old friend in land blasted awe for a long moment.

"I...I have missed you, John." Sherlock's eyes were watering again. He swallowed. His constant tears belied the depth of his trauma. Sherlock's stoicism was enduring, even now, as he fought to retain a sense of cold reason about even his expressions. John couldn't bring himself to wonder just yet what he'd been through.

"I'll bring her around." John smiled. He hugged Sherlock again, tucking his head to his shoulder for a moment.

"Get some sleep if you can. It'll be like a marshmallow for a bit...Trust me, I've been there." John nodded, leaning back. He was reluctant to leave.

"Go home, John. She'll be suspicious and...Well, I'm not at liberty to tell you why she's being this way. Don't tell her about me or press her. She'll come around on her own if she's meant to." Sherlock nodded. Then, Rosie intervened.

"Take a shower, mister! On the double!" She pointed to the bathroom. Sherlock snapped to attention.

"Yes, sir!" He winked at Rosie and ran a hand gently over her golden head. Then, he disappeared into the shower room, whistling softly. They then heard him call out:

"Oh, thank the merciful heaven there will be no rubbish, mindless singing for dinner tonight! I've eaten a Mycroft's portion, I'd wager. Bleh! Ignorant singing rubbish! Why do people throw coins to wailing bums? It's idiotic at best, at worst it's a social caste system..." Sherlock went on chattering to himself and to no one at all as he turned on the water.

John and Rosie laughed.

"Let's go home, dear." John gave Rosie his hand.

"Will he be alright here?" Rosie looked up. John nodded.

"Mm...He won't be out on the street. That's the most important bit." John led Rosie out to their car as if they were walking in a dream. After 10 whole years, he had Sherlock back. That was a start, even if things weren't perfect yet.


	8. Chapter 8

**Mary Comes Around**

Mum called later and said she was out with friends. Daddy paced then, worriedly, and muttered to himself, chewing his nails. Rosie wondered what this meant. She fretted over it and finally fell asleep in front of the telly.

Past midnight, they heard Mum come in. Daddy was in the shower room when the door opened. Rosie opened an eye as she heard Mum's keys drop on their kitchen island. She then heard her typing buttons on her mobile.

"There's been a charge on one of John's cards...For a hotel room. Thank you, but I'm not stupid. Either John's seeing a woman, or he gave that card to you. And certainly, he'd not bring Rosie if he was seeing someone…"Mum's tone was waspish. Rosie sat up. Was Mum on the phone with Sherlock?

Suddenly, her voice changed. To more tired than angry.

"God, you know nothing about human nature do you, even still? You...I'm not calling to threaten you. Alright? I'm...I'm in trouble. Yes, you were right. I overstepped. I thought I could leave all that business behind. I couldn't. I thought by admitting to it, by having you back in our lives again, that I'd be putting John and my baby girl in danger…I mean, all that business you've dredged up since the bit in Aleppo. It was things that even Mycroft turns green around the gills when they come up in a briefing."Mary's voice is strained now. John comes out of the shower, wrapped in a bathrobe. His eyes are wide. He's even still got shaving cream on his chin as if he hasted into the open to hear better.

"Damn it! I know...I'm...I'm sorry. But you were right and….And I need you to…."Mary was crying suddenly. At first softly, then hard.

"Will you come, please? Just...I need you here with us, please. You saved my life. Saved my child, my husband. And John was your family before he was mine, so it was wrong to keep you from him...And I've been irrationally cruel and I….After the kind of bloody hell, they found you in just the month before last. That alone should literally have me at your feet, but...God! I love you, Sherlock! I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry…"Mary was sobbing. John extended a hand to her, face almost blue with intrigued horror. She was shaking, nodding. She let John hold her around the shoulders.

"Please….I'm sorry, I'm...really I can be a beast-You're in a hotel? You should be home with us! Now. Come now. Please! Get a cab, a bicycle, a bloody helicopter! Please just get here!" Mary nodded again. She looked at John through her tears.

"Oh, Christ! Really? I'll text you my address. Be here, Sherlock! Or I'm coming to get you myself!" Mary hung up then. She was shaking, hand over her mouth. John dabbed the shaving cream from his chin and then thumbed the tears from her face.

"Is it really that bad then? All that happened after how he chose to stop Magnusson? And you've gotten involved again somehow?" John swallowed. Rosie had crept closer, hopeful and scared.

"Oh, God. You have no idea what kind of hell he's been through, and that's saying a lot, my dear Captain. I've been-My God! I've been cruel. But I was terrified it would all follow us home and I was guilty and I...I need to see him...I need to see him…"Mary shook her head. She slipped out from under John's arm and went to Rosie.

"Hey, baby! It's alright. Mummy's just...upset because I didn't introduce you properly to Uncle Sherlock. He'll be here soon or we'll go and get him!" Mary stooped to hug Rosie. She then poured herself and John a stout drink. Rosie couldn't sleep again. She sat on the kitchen floor with a juice box.

About 20 minutes later, the doorbell rang. John rose from a kitchen stool to get it, but Mary flew to the door and tore it open. There stood Sherlock Holmes hair still wet, face nicked from a hasted shave. He looked younger without all the facial hair. Rosie was pleased.

Sherlock stepped inside. John went to Rosie and scooped her up, crying softly from happiness. They watched as Sherlock just stared at Mary in wonderment for a while. He was almost eerily silent and wide-eyed, taking her in.

"I'm sorry!" Mary all but screamed and threw herself into Sherlock's arms. Sherlock held her then, tucking his face in her hair.

"I'm sorry...I'm so so sorry...Please don't ever leave again! Don't you ever leave again!" Mary was bawling now, knees about to give out. Sherlock was getting upset, eyes wide, stammering.

"I'm...why are you?...I'm alright now, dear. It's alright." Sherlock helped Mary stand up all the way. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and frowned.

"Mary, dear...It's okay." His voice went back to the reasoning man he'd been all those years ago.

"It's not! It's really not. After what you've done to help me, are still doing to help me...I was scared. I'm…"Mary was shaking. Sherlock kissed her forehead as if to say it was all forgiven. But she was crying so hard there were cracking sounds in her sobs, and she was making hysterical sounds. He took her by her wrists as she began to lose composure, struggling, voice rising and dropping in volume. Rosie flinched and hid her face in John's shoulder. John swallowed, trying to keep his calm. He patted Rosie's back and cooed a soft shushing sound to her that made her feel little again.

Mary pulled back from Sherlock's grip, laughing, running her hands over his face. She gave a soft cry and shook her head.

"Good God...You...This house is huge. You...You slept rough for a month and here I am in this mansion with…"Mary was sobbing again so hard she could scarcely breathe. Sherlock looked fearfully John's direction, unsure what to do.

"Rosie, dear...I need your help. Go turn back Mum's side of the bed, alright?" John set Rosie, who was now rather resigned to Mum's sudden, uncharacteristic meltdown, on her feet. She nodded, creeping toward the room, not sure she wanted to leave this scene.

"You two are going to tell me what the hell is going on, aren't you?" John crept closer to both his bride and his best man, laying a hand on the small of Mary's back. She shivered and clung to Sherlock like a drowning castaway clings to scraps of any drifting thing. Sherlock frowned.

"It will take quite a while to explain. We should probably wait until the child is asleep or even until tomorrow sometime. The two of you have made a strong-willed girl, but the story is infinitely more distressing than I can convey in brief." Sherlock looked cautiously toward Rosie. He knew she'd been there the whole time. He smiled. Desperate to be part of this scene, she waved at him, trying to reassure him. Why wouldn't they tell her what the trouble was? She was 10. She wasn't a baby.

Mary's legs gave out. Sherlock caught her and then John caught them both as Sherlock was nearly taken to the floor along with Mary.

"Mm, think that means tomorrow. She's fainted." John patted Mary's cheek, as he scooped her up bridal style. Sherlock looked horrified.

"No, don't blame yourself. You...We'll get past whatever fresh hell is trying to retire you two permanently again. " John swallowed, shaking his head.

"I couldn't just have a wife and a best friend with regular careers, could I? No such luck for John Watson! God, will you please take those horrid sock-tape moccasins off? Mm? I have some new socks you can just have if you like." John smiled at Sherlock as he stood, fretful in the kitchen, and then wearily carried Mary into their bedroom. He laid her down and shook her trying to get her to come to.

Rosie crept to Sherlock, forgotten by her parents for a moment.

"Don't be upset, Sherlock. Mum will be okay. You should get cozy for now. Welcome to your new home! Shall we have proper tea now?" She folded her hands. Sherlock gasped back a soft choking sound and knelt in front of her, taking her hand in both of his, with a gentle little shake.

"Bless you, Rosie Watson! Yes...That would be lovely." Sherlock smiled as Rosie went to put the kettle on. He got up slowly, a bit dizzy, only to feel John kneeling beside him and pulling the ruined shoe things off his feet and pulling a pair of house slippers on them instead.

"Is she alright?" Sherlock tried to look back into the room at where Mary was reviving, but John was quietly pulling his coat off and wrapping him in a sweater instead.

"Shh...Yeah, she is and everything is fine. Everything will be fine. We're all back together finally. If that's the most we can do today, that's quite a bit of progress, in my book." John smiled. Then, he went to Rosie and helped her set up the tea set. Feeling a bit useless, Sherlock sat down at the kitchen island and laid his head over his arms on the countertop.

"Poor dear…"Rosie sat Sherlock's tea and a huge stack of her favorite lemon biscuits in front of him. John was awestruck by his young daughter's compassion as she sat beside Sherlock and hugged him around the shoulders.

"See, it's all okay. Mum will be okay. And now you've got a home again. Don't be sad...Sherlock. No more tears, dear Sherlock." Rosie kissed him on his head and smiled up at her Dad.

And then, John had to sit down and put his own head in his hands. God help him, he'd finally gotten his entire family safely under one roof again. That was enough excitement and stress for one night.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Halo of the Damned**

Rosie pretended to be sleeping still the next day. She stuffed her bed with a big teddy to look like she was in there if Mum came to check. Then she hid under Mum and Dad's bed so she could see into the kitchen easily.

It was early morning. It being Saturday, there would be no school or work for the Watsons today. The sun had just risen. John already had a kettle on.

Sherlock sat at the counter with Rosie's parents, his mobile phone held in shaky, prayerful hands. He was chewing his lip as he told the story. Rosie didn't understand most of the words but her Daddy was gripping the handle of the scone platter enough to make crackling noises. Mum's jaw had dropped.

"At first, it was just my sentence. Mycroft had arranged with his superiors that I clean up all the stray ends I'd left by doing away with Magnusson's collection. When I went down on the case that Mycroft put me as KIA for national security, I found my way to Aleppo. It was during the war. Mary's assassin group had gone rogue and infiltrated what once was a trader with Moran. A satellite group of ISIL that Moran trained. One that Magnusson had enough information on he could have had a public execution for Mary in Syria, and caused the whole country to go down in blazes with it." Sherlock shook his head and suddenly he was on the verge of tears again.

"I...I joined a guerrilla group to sabotage the terrorist unit by posing as part of it. It got me deep behind Aleppo's lines. I solved a complex laundering scheme that linked Mary's old unit back to a bank in London. Mycroft had the funding party assassinated. I was captured by the man's personal secretary of death. I was taken to Turkey." Sherlock nodded, still fighting tears. Mary laid a hand on his, wondering what this could be about. His tears were escalating.

"By the time this all had happened, Rosie would have been 4. Maybe 5. I couldn't keep a precise measurement of her years because I had no true report of when you'd delivered her.'" Sherlock gritted his teeth, looking at Mary to avoid looking at John. John's face was leaching its color. This had to do with his child after all. Mary took Sherlock's hand.

"They told me...Mycroft's men...The few who came to extract me and died soon after...They told me she was beautiful. Which beautifully made her the perfect bargaining chip for the secrets you held...It also made her a…"Sherlock was crying now, covering his mouth with his free hand. He looked away, closing his eyes tight. Rosie was softly crying too now. She didn't understand why he was hurting so much, but she knows some of what he was saying was terrifying.

"Christ!" John stood up and turned away, bowing over the sink. He was panting. Mary cried into her hand. Sherlock nodded and then he choked out.

"They had photographs. Nicked them from potential buyers. I...I saw some of...It was blurry and much younger than she is now that I've met her. It was impossible for me to deduce if they were authentic because I'd never seen any comparisons and...The memory of your features was fading so they couldn't be relied upon.

I...Those were an indirect threat to me. What they meant to do to her...I knew I had to save her." Sherlock looked at John now, because he struck his fist against the sink. Rosie wondered what "buyer" meant. Why would someone want to buy her?

"I...I escaped with their help. They were compromised by someone at home and were killed before they could return to their contact. I went North. I was heading again into Eastern Europe. Bosnia this time. I was able to deduce which buyer from the curvature of a number he'd inscribed on the back of the first photo still. It was the beginning of a long range of nullified Moriarty accounts. The banker was a contact I'd known for a long time. A Sevillian woman who knew the brothel world from a time in her life when she'd been forced to walk that path herself…"Sherlock bowed his head all the way to the counter. He was weeping openly now.

Which for Sherlock meant this part was the absolute most atrocious thing that could have happened in human history.

Mary was too stunned to move. John turned away from the sink, crept to Sherlock's side. He pulled him into a sitting position and kissed both sides of his face. Then he pressed him crying to his chest for a moment. He was shaking, the phone still in his hands.

It took a long moment of John running his hands through Sherlock's hair for him to compose the silent sobs. He swallowed, pinching his nose as he apologized.

"An effect of ruined nerves. I...I'm sorry, this doesn't help us." Sherlock bit his lip. He didn't protest as John slid to sitting beside him again, holding him by the bicep now. Sherlock swallowed, looking him in the eye for a withering moment.

"By the time that I reached Bosnia, she was dead. It was worse than I feared. What they'd done to her was a type of explicit execution. And on either of her breasts, they'd written "Rosie" and "Watson"..."Sherlock swallowed. John was shaking now but nodded. Sherlock nodded back.

"So I did what I had to do. I followed them to the address they'd left on her desk. It was an auction. For child slaves. Brides, drug runners….And soldiers. Rosie had already been enlisted into their guerrilla ranks under her name. They would bring her to the battalion unless I agreed to lead it." Sherlock gulped. Then he shook his head.

"I thought that I could save them. Some of them I did. The bosses instructed me to teach them the science of deduction. I taught them but then I used the teaching to leave them clues that I was planning an extensive mutiny. One that we used to rupture the trafficking operation. We delivered the majority of the surviving slaves to UNICEF." Sherlock looked out the window now.

"People were always going to be coming for Rosie. She was legend at this time. I heard somewhere that she was 7 years old now. Beauty had multiplied under the sentimental notions of forced heroism. My children and I….We made her our cause. We had no choice. They knew our names and faces and we were part of their downfall. Rosie was the Olympic trophy. The two of you and what you knew was a laurel rather. They wanted all three, you know. And They wanted all the fathers and mothers and siblings of my boys and girls. So we… Became a band of the Unluckiest Robin Hood sort, as they called us. I called us the Irregulars. People seemed to like it. It was like we were in some sort of action film, coming to save the unfortunately stupid from villainous archetypes.

Ironically, we made our way into North Korea. As close to the epicenter of the assassins' underground government as we could come." Sherlock was shaking now. He swallowed.

"They were astoundingly clever, unto the bitter end. I alone have survived to tell the miserable story. Or what I can stomach. And God, I'd be guilty for their lives as if I'd spent them. But the families who loved them were saved in the end. And each of them passed with smiles on their faces. An instant. The unfortunate fact that I had evaded a trigger system that they'd not the deductive experience to see." Sherlock lifted the phone. The lock screen was a picture of himself, a bit younger, dressed in a guerrilla suit and carrying a tactical rifle. 15 children attired exactly the same surrounded him. They were posing on a half-burned truck outside what looked like an auction block.

"When that last fight was done, and they had said their goodbyes for the 30 seconds before the blast took them...I was blown backward into the sea. I floated southward and was picked up by a rig in South Korea. I pretended to be an American journalist and was flown to New York. There I solved petty crimes for NYPD until I raised enough private funds to fly to London again." Sherlock was smiling again.

"At last, sentiment overtook me. I'd never thought to care for London until London was the last refuge for the safe and the beautiful. And by the time I'd seen my native country, I was so old...So wretched. But it had only been 10 years. And 10 years meant that Rose was still a child...Still as beautiful as legend. And she was my mantra for so, so long. The angel of my revolution...A halo for the damned.

And strange as it was, and against the cold reason that has preserved me my life entire, I gave into sentiment. I became mad to find her. Mournful too. Music fed me whilst I was on the street. Petty crimes eased my madness some. I had to reconstruct myself entirely. And with my time abroad, all those years living in Hell...I'd become a demon of the hour." Sherlock smiled.

"Lestrade needn't know the vigilante work that led to both tips and many bumbling fools surrendering themselves to justice. I thought that if reason waited long enough, reason would win. But sentiment was like a poisoned arrow. Damn it, I loved her and I had to see for myself if the fairy tale was real." So Sherlock ended his story.

John looked at Mary. Mary looked at John. Silence pervaded the Watsons. John nodded. He stood slowly up and went outside.

Rosie peered through the window. Daddy had knelt beside his favorite white rose bush, and had bowed over his knees, sobbing into his hands.

"You...All of that business...Isn't completely over, is it, dear?" Mary brought Sherlock out of his traumatized silence.

"When is war ever over?" Sherlock's voice had an edge to it, like Mary was evading some pressing truth she should be sharing.

"So, you didn't just come back to meet Rosie, did you? You came, more or less, to say goodbye. And you'd come and find that I'd messed around in things and made the situation even more complex..." Mary bit her pinkie tip, face twisting in guilt.

Sherlock took a shaky breath.

"Will you...Will you mind if I go out there with him for a moment? The air...I'm not used to being indoors long." Sherlock nodded. Mary waved him on. She was left in silence, chewing her nails. The kettle screamed and screamed but no one bothered to tend to it.


	10. Chapter 10

**A Father Goes to War**

It was graveyard silent in the Watson's garden. A light rain fell gradually. Then, it showered all at once, washing the tears from John's face. Sherlock entered the lawn just as the rain rolled over and dissipated.

Rosie came to the back door and opened the window. She could hear them, but she would not go too close. Her heart twisted in her like a rag doll dancing to the mad jig of its beat. What was this sadness? This fear? What was this strange sensation of suddenly growing up?

The garden grew silent. John stood slowly, rising like a skyscraper over the rose bush. How the blossoms danced in the tears of abrupt shower! How chill and damned this moment, where a family stood on the gasping perch of silence, waiting for the inevitable stroke of human events. It was the dance of sparrow and adder. Death was near the door. Rosie had never been so close to it before now.

Sherlock didn't speak. He kept his hands tucked in the sweater he'd been offered last night. Wisdom and sorrow pervaded him. The wind cast fallen blossoms about his bare feet. Raindrops applauded him with their clattering leap from a stray corner of the roof, falling unceremoniously into the birdbath. After the encore, there was the silence of two aging friends reunited by the madness of the hour.

"If you ever leave again, I will kill you." John turned, a smile coloring his bluing lips. Sherlock smirked, knowingly. They stood in silent vigil, face to face again. Neither moved. The moment was Michelangelo. They were stone. Chiseled by the aul of perfect patience, each man waited. Each man weighed his heart and the gentle art of coming to terms with their role in all of this.

"I won't ever leave you again. Certainly not now." Sherlock was the first to speak. His voice was a sudden symposium in that shaky silence. Birds flinched. John was resolved and nodded.

"Mary's part in this. What has she done?" John tilted his chin upward. He expected an answer. Sherlock obliged.

"When I was in New York, I was detained. One of my cases, one of my private cases, went decidedly south. I was captured and tortured by a gang who started asking questions. They were asking about a killing of one of their members that had been stationed in London." Sherlock swallowed.

"She's been taking out the ones who escaped your revolution. Followed you here?"

"She's been taking out the newly blooded ones as well."

John nodded. He folded his hands behind his back.

"Which was decidedly ill-informed, I suppose?" John held his breath.

"It was a fragile situation before. A few stray threads plucked from the seam, may yet unravel the whole of the fabric." Sherlock held his breath.

"So, what will we do about it then?" John stood up straighter. Sherlock looked temporarily stunned.

"They threatened my child. And if you'd not been…."John swallowed, eyes going wide. Sherlock nodded.

"It's time. I've been on leave a long, long time. Think it's high time that John Watson goes to war again. It's my job as the father in this family, right?" John smiled. Sherlock bowed his head slightly. John nodded and understood. He drew closer and took Sherlock by the shoulders.

"You...Have sacrificed a lifetime for me." John's voice was so deep and sad then that Rosie's breath caught. Yet her Daddy was smiling like everything was okay.

"I could bleed 10 times my body content each day and not pay you back. Because you didn't just fake death twice to save mine and the misses' lives. You saved my child from a Hell that even the likes of me can't quite wrap the head around. Mm? And you did that by going there yourself…"John's voice hovered in the air.

"You were my family first, Sherlock. Even before they were part of it all. It was you and I then. I...I have finally gotten back the one variable in my life that makes the rest make sense. I won't be letting you go back. I just won't. If you don't like it, you're going to have to kill me. It's the only way you'd get me not to come with you this time." John smiled. Sherlock nodded and took John's arms by the wrists.

"I told them about you. You may not know it but you led me into firefight every day there for a while. I trust you to do it again." Sherlock smiled. They both laughed.

"Sh-Sherlock…."Rosie could take no more. Both of Rosie's men turned. Sherlock's face was pale, a brow curled up. John swallowed, and smiled, calm despite the fact that she'd probably overheard everything that was talked about.

"Good morning, Rosie-dear." Sherlock crept closer to the girl and knelt in front of her. Rosie crept closer, trying not to cry. She wanted to come off as mature so they'd tell her the truth.

"Did...Did you save me?" Rosie had the detective in a deadlock stare. If she didn't look at her Dad, he might not be compelled to try and make this okay. Rosie wanted the truth like a grownup would get it. Sherlock swallowed.

"Yes." He nodded, trying to smile. Rosie nodded.

"Someone tried to buy me? Why?" Rosie's fists clenched. John let out a tiny gasp. Sherlock held out a hand. Rosie went to him and took it noticing it was still horribly bruised.

"People in the world see a charming girl like you and they want to buy her to play with. Like a doll. They never give you back to your parents. And they do horrible things. Nasty things like a bully would to broken toys. Things that should never be done. Not even to the ickiest persons."Sherlock brushed Rosie's hair out of her eyes. She nodded.

"But...Someone did bad things to you. Hurt you. So nobody would hurt me." Rosie started to cry, unable to help herself. A tear rolled to her lip.

"Yes, love, a lot of people hurt me. But I didn't feel any of it...Do you know why?" Sherlock smiled and took Rosie's face in his palms thumbing away her tears as she softly cried.

"Shh...Now don't cry. All I could feel the whole time was you."

"You didn't know me then?"

"But I did, Rosie. I did..." Sherlock winked. Rosie giggled through her tears. Then she kissed his forehead. He pulled her into his arms and picked her up carrying her over to her Dad. Rosie laid her head on Sherlock's shoulder, not caring that she looked like a baby now. He held her as close and precious as he could. John held his breath. Sherlock had found his Holy Grail.


	11. Chapter 11

**On Gingers**

So the days came that Sherlock became part of the Watsons family again. Mary seemed yet a bit uneasy, but now that John had put his foot down, she decided not to press the issue of them all working together again. Rosie almost cried when she realized that Mum and Sherlock actually got on really well. It seemed like they could all be a family forever this way.

Oh to be a child again! As innocent as Rose Watson. If all the world was like that, a better world it would have been. These things were not to be, though no one could guess that what came next was darkness and the shadow again of death.

One morning, they were all standing on a sidewalk in Brixton. Today was the first day that Sherlock had a detective job for Rosie. John had agreed to it, reluctantly.

"Now, dear. Many times in police work a detective needs to use the deductions he's made to identify a person's appearance even with no formal knowledge of the person. I've made these deductions. I'm going to say them back to you. Then, I want you to paint a portrait of the man in question so we can see here if Raz knows where he holds up." Sherlock looked up at Raz who nodded.

"Are we sure it's safe for her to paint it out on the open sidewalk like this? You know, in case someone could be watching from the sidelines?" John put a protective hand on Rosie's shoulder. Rosie smiled. It was almost comical how overprotective Daddy was being about this. Like Sherlock would ever put her in danger.

"It's safer for it to be out here than in one of her sketchbooks, John. Out here, we can wash it away. Raz has a pressure washer. But, if it were on her person..." Sherlock looked up from where he knelt beside Rosie. John smiled. He trusted him.

"Alright, then let her do what she does best." John beamed proudly and stepped away. Mary pressed closer, peering curiously. Sherlock went off then in a mantra of almost unintelligible deductions. Or, at least, they were almost unintelligible to his adult counterparts. To her parents and to Raz's amazement, Rosie was following Sherlock verbatim at the same pace that he spoke, scribbling out a vivid portrait.

"More turned up on his ears? You said they were red at the tip and they curved, so they weren't like that because of cold. A fight then. And the red on his nose. Drugs, right? Maybe I should add some snot at his nose?" Rosie concluded as they were done.

"Marvelous! That beats the last record time we set the last time we practiced 'guess what'! See, I told you it would help me in the field one day. And yes, add all the snot you want. Drugs it is." Sherlock smiled at the Watsons. John laughed aloud.

"Dear God, you've created a minion!" Mary covered her mouth, laughing hoarsely.

"Not a minion, a prodigy." John was breathless. Rosie smiled at her dad.

"And bloody well a spot on one too. I know that guy. He's the mob boss for the Ginger League. Bolts up near the river." Raz shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

"Oi! A league of gingers? Simply dreadful. My schoolmates say they have no souls." Rosie covered her mouth.

"Well, your schoolmates are idiots, but that's beside the point. The Gingers are bad because they are arsonists. Fire, you see, that's why they all dye their hair red. They used to contract with the assassins we're trying to stop." Sherlock's voice got quiet. He stood up now and turned to Mary. Mary's fists were twisted around her scarf now. She met Sherlock's eyes reluctantly.

"I know him too. His brother ran the drug cartel in Manhattan that had intel into your foray against my former bosses." Mary drew a deep breath. Sherlock nodded.

"The brother's dead, isn't he?" John stood at attention. Rosie wondered why that made Daddy cross. Mary swallowed.

"Yes, several of them are dead. They started sniffing about. And to be fair, Sherlock was dead too, just a few months ago. I thought I had no choice." Mary looked at John. He nodded, jaw clenched sternly, but he nodded anyway.

Rosie looked at Sherlock confused. He shrugged. Then, he stood up, turned to Raz and nodded toward the painting.

"It was such a good portrait that I hate to do this. You understand, right?" Raz asked before he turned on his washer.

"If it helps catch the blokes, it doesn't bother me. I can always make another painting." Rosie smirked.

As Raz washed the portrait off, Sherlock led the Watsons a few paces away.

"John, you know what we've got to do." Sherlock's eyes froze on his friend's. John nodded. He turned to Mary.

"You promise you'll be forthcoming this time?" John's voice shook a bit, angry and sad.

"It depends on if it will put you at risk or not." Mary wasn't budging. John's frustration made him grip his mouth. Rose was looking at him wide-eyed. He smiled at her.

"I don't get it. What do we have to do, Sherlock?" Rosie tugged on Sherlock's sleeve. He turned to the girl, eyes wide now. Then he smiled.

"Well, you will have to be our lookout. I've never introduced you to my brother, have I? He's an older man now. Almost ready to retire, 'cept he never does. Anyway, these blokes are nasty enough we'll need his help and all his computers to stop them. And I need somebody I trust more than all Mycroft's people to help him watch the computers. Will you do that for me, dear?" Sherlock smiled. Rosie felt her heart swell with pride.

"Oh, yeah. Of course." She waved it off like it was nothing.

"We're really going to involve Mycroft?" Mary blanched.

"Yes, we are." John stood up straighter, glaring at his wife for a moment, with a smile that was just a bit creepy.

"Hey, everyone. Everything will be okay." Rosie had no idea why she'd said that. They all looked at her, surprised.

"Yes, of course, dear. Mummy will make sure of it." Mary took Rosie's hands and gave them a little squeeze.

"I'm gonna go get something out of the boot, okay? Be back soon." Mary turned toward the car, looking at John as if telling him to follow her.

"I'm going to help. Stay with Sherlock, Rose." John pointed at Rosie firmly and then followed after Mary a bit too quickly for Rosie's liking. Mum and Dad were normally pretty cheerful around each other. Which is why it made little sense why they were being so peevish now.

"What are they on about?" Rosie looked up at Sherlock. To her shock, his face crumpled up with sadness watching them. He turned to her blinked and then smiled broadly. Which was something he rarely did. So, she felt he might be faking it. She didn't like the idea he might lie to her too. She tilted her head.

"Why are you upset?" Rosie took his hand. He swallowed.

"Because I think your Mum and Dad might be in trouble. But, if they knew I told you that, they'd be furious with me." Sherlock swallowed.

"Why do they insist on treating me like a baby?" Rosie pressed Sherlock's hand tighter. He stared at her before he spoke, face now openly sad again.

"Promise you won't tell?"

"Cross my heart."

"You weren't ever supposed to be born. Bad people tried to hurt your Mum whilst she carried you. I got shot in the process and nearly died. It scared them then. I don't think they ever got over it." Sherlock swallowed. Rosie's eyes went wide.

"And you think those bad people...will come back?" Rosie squeezed harder. This time Sherlock squeezed her hand back.

"I think they will, yes. Which is why I need your help. You have to make sure that...That no matter what happens to me...That you will be brave. Alright? So that I can make sure your Mum and Dad don't do stupid things that get them hurt." Sherlock swallowed. Rosie nodded.

"Nothing bad will happen to you, will it?"

"Do you want the truth?"

"I'm not a baby..."

"I know. It's why I'm telling you."

"The truth, then. Yes."

"When I came back, bad people were already here. I found out about it when I was working on a different case in New York. I had to get here as soon as I could to try and stop them. It's why I didn't talk to my brother, or Greg, or anyone." Sherlock swallowed.

"And you don't think that...That you are safe." Rosie swallowed. She had to be brave. She promised.

"I won't let anything happen to your family or you, dear." Sherlock smiled at her.

"I'm not worried about us! I asked about you. Will you be okay, Sherlock?" Rosie took both his hands. He swallowed.

"I don't know. And I hate not knowing." Sherlock bit his lip. His eyes squeezed shut. Rosie could hear her parents muffled arguing now. She flinched.

"Oh, it is bad, isn't it?"

"Yup…"

"No matter what, Sherlock. I'll be brave. Promise. But...You have to promise too. Promise that…"Rosie swallowed. She climbed on her chalk box and took his face to make him look at her.

"Promise that you won't lie to me at all. Not like they do. Even if it's hard. I want to be there to help, bad times or good times. And I can't if you treat me like a baby." Rosie swallowed. Sherlock nodded. Then he hugged her. Which was something else that he rarely ever initiated with anyone. Rosie hugged him back, smiling.

"That's my girl. You are your father's daughter and you have your mother's will. Dear Rosie, you're going to be just fine…"


	12. Chapter 12

**The age of wine and roses**

That night would change history. So softly that no one saw it coming. It hit them like a ton of bricks coming from the walls of that nation.

Mycroft was just as surprised to see Sherlock as everyone else had been when he first rang the bell. There was also Anthea with Mycroft, sipping a cocktail. Sherlock tilted her head to the side.

"You...Are alive?" Mycroft almost knocked over his stool.

"You are well, I see. Good to see you again, Anthea" Sherlock looked from his brother to his brother's secretary turned lover with a smirk.

John slipped up behind Sherlock. He was carrying Rosie, who had her face pressed wearily to his shoulder. Mycroft swallowed. John's face crinkled with anger when Mycroft was not surprised to see Mary.

"So, it's come time for that favor, Doctor Watson." Mycroft turned to John. Sherlock whipped around. John swallowed.

"Yes, I'm afraid. You know I'd never ask, but you said I could…" John smiled at Sherlock.

"Ah, the favor. The one you'd only call if she stepped too far out of the lines." Sherlock looked from Mycroft to John and then Mary at last. Mary sighed.

"It's good to meet her, finally." Mycroft nodded to Rosie. John held Rosie closer and smiled.

"Truly, an honor to meet you. You are all my brother ever wrote home about. My mother thought you were a girlfriend from all the talk. She even bought wedding invitations. I let her think what she would. She died before Sherlock ever came home again." Mycroft drew closer now. Anthea was in tears.

It had been that long, that bloody since Sherlock Holmes was last seen on their corner of the earth.

Mycroft crept to Sherlock cautiously. He put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and swallowed. Sherlock smiled a tiny smile. Then, to the shock and awe of the Watsons, the peculiar Holmes brothers embraced. It was probably the first time they ever had. Mycroft buried his face in Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock smiled and this time it was a nice smile. One that sparkled in the reflection of Mycroft's glass table. The kind that made Rosie want to cry with happiness.

"If you're here, then you made good on all the threats you came to me with. Which means, that they will keep the pact they made. All those years ago." Mycroft leaned back from Sherlock. He was addressing Mary even as he took Sherlock's face in hands.

"Pact?" John looked at Mary. His face said he knew what they were about, but he was afraid to tread that ground.

"Rosie, dear...My name is Anthea. I'd like to welcome you to my new home. See, Mycroft is my husband. We live here together. And you'll be living here with us too for a little while." Anthea held her hands out. John understood. Swallowing he set Rosie on her feet.

"Daddy will have to let you stay here tonight, okay? You understand that?" John played with Rosie's hair. His voice was cool like water. Which meant that Daddy was on the verge of a breakdown. Rose had secretly seen enough of his traumatic episodes over the years to know that he was always more likely to be falling apart when he was showing no emotion at all.

"I will do it for you, Daddy. Just get this business sorted." Rosie squeezed her father's hand. Then she smiled at Anthea.

"I'd very much like to meet Sherlock's family. Did you know he is the reason why I was ever even born?" Rosie beamed. Anthea swallowed and looked at Sherlock. All eyes in the room had, at last, trained on him. But he was only looking at Rosie with the most wistful little smirk. He said nothing. And speechlessness for Sherlock Holmes said infinitely more.

Rosie smiled at him and waved wistfully. He blew a kiss to her. An action that made Mycroft blink rapidly in wonder at how much his brother had changed for the love of that magnificent child.

Anthea held out her hand, swallowing. She led Rosie from the room, into a parlor area. There was a telly-set in there she thought Rosie might like to see. A sofa she could sleep in while she stayed here.

Rosie had no idea that she would not be spending the whole night here. That trouble had already found them. All she could hear was the adults and their fraught speech.

"You killed them all?!" John's voice rising in despair.

"All but one. The youngest. He got away. That's the one that Rose painted. That's the one that swore in the blood of Sebastian Moran he would do away with you. I couldn't let that happen. Not after…" Mary's voice, filled with fret and shame.

"Could you not have come to me sooner? I had your file-"Mycroft rudely interrupted.

"That's the point! You knew too much. I didn't trust you. I NEVER trusted you, Mycroft Holmes. Why do you think it got so far gone that I hurt Sherlock…"Mary's voice faltered. Rosie heard that but Anthea was telling her something and she was distracted from the implications for a moment.

"Well, that doesn't matter now. All that matters is, we have to allow him to come for me. Make him think he's winning. Then, we can catch him in his own game." Sherlock's voice. Quick, sharp, focused. Ready to complete this last most vicious case.

"Like hell!" John getting quickly angry.

"We can't risk an intensively long planning strategy. This could overtake us in a heartbeat. And it isn't only us anymore. It's her. They hated me so much...They would do worse than death." Sherlock's voice snapping then becoming kinder as John is clearly upset.

"Besides, you're an excellent marksman. I'll be fine." Sherlock smiled.

"Well, no...You won't Now that they've heard the whole bleeding plan." Mary's voice. Anthea turned toward the door. She and Rosie crept. They couldn't help themselves, not at that tone.

"Mary?" John was scared now. He stepped between her and Sherlock. He put his hands up. Mary swallowed. Her tears before were back, but calmer. It had not been fear. It was guilt.

"I love you. You know that...And I am sorry. I am so so sorry…"Mary shook her head. Sherlock nodded.

"Whatever deal you've made with them...Let me help."Sherlock stepped closer, John's hand colliding with his chest. The hand over Sherlock's heart now was shaking. The hand stretched toward Mary was shaking.

"Honest, now. Please for the first time. Please, just be honest. What have you done? We just might be able to fix this, dear...Just tell the truth." John's voice was almost boyish in its sadness. Mary swallowed a sob.

"It isn't what I've done. It's what I haven't." She held up her wrist to reveal a glowing light in it. She had been chipped with some new IoT tracking device.

"When he got away, it was because shooting this into me. I've never felt that kind of pain, so I lost my grip and my sense. They said they wouldn't kill her if I...If I wore it. They said it was like playing a game of funhouse mirrors. I thought...That if I played along they would...They would let it be. That I could give you false codes and leads and help with falsehoods...Oh, but they weren't expecting the wonder of Sherlock Holmes would age like wine. For God's sakes, why did you have to be clever?" Mary bit her lip.

Just then a posse of seven gingers came treading into the parlor as if they belonged here. Six of them had newly dyed hair, some of it was only tinted that anyone could tell. The seventh was the man from Rosie's painting.

"You did well...What a dance, boy. They told you were a tiger. You jumped into my ring of fire beautifully, man." The man smiled. Mycroft pulled a small gun from his waistband.

"Save it, grandfather." The man held up his finger.

"The thing in fish-wife's wrist will blow us all to Hell if my orders aren't obeyed." The ginger bloke smiled. Mycroft crunched his teeth. Sherlock nodded to him to lower the gun. The ginger turned to Sherlock first and then John.

"Ah, this is beautiful. I've got a tiger by the tail, and all his lions and the whole bleeding circus. These are the days of wine and Roses and it would be too simple, too dull really to let it end on a flat note. So, here's how we're going to play. Like gentlemen. John with his fight. Mary with her gun slinging wits. And you, sir...You have an unfair advantage to it all. Let's see what it comes to when it comes to saving you by fire." The ginger helped himself to Anthea's liquor.

Rosie had never in all her life been so afraid.


	13. Chapter 13

**The dawn's early light**

The gingers left them all alone. That was the worst of it. They were all allowed to sit and to visit as if this was just an evening party. After several hours, the suspense could be cut with a knife. Rosie ran into the room and pointed at the man.

"You! Why are you doing this, huh?" Rosie shook her finger. John's throat bobbed. He was white around the mouth. Sherlock went from mostly unphased to near hyperventilation when she came into the room.

"Well, because your Mummy was a bad girl once. Haven't you heard?" The man tilted his head.

"Don't tell her-you bastard."John kicked at him.

"I'm not a baby! I'm not. Tell me the truth. You all should have told me the truth." Rosie turned to her crying mother.

"This case has been just a game, hasn't it. One of your grown-up games? I wouldn't love you any less, Mum. The truth. Sherlock!" Rosie turned to Sherlock. Sherlock who stood up now.

"You promised. And I said I'd be brave." Rosie eyed her Dad then. Her Daddy was looking at Sherlock with new wonder. Sherlock nodded and knelt and held out his hands. She took them. He nodded, bracing himself.

"Then, here it is. I'm so sorry." He bowed his head, glaring with hate at the man who had thrown something stupidly mundane into the clever puzzle. The man scoffed.

"Go on there, Papa Holmes. No one's stopping you." He folded his arms.

"It's what I warned you about. Your parents...They were involved in things long ago that led to all this trouble. It would take too long to explain and it doesn't matter now." Sherlock bit his lip. Rosie was nodding. She was getting upset, but she clung to his hands.

"I am going to die. That's what's going to happen. It will be dreadfully ugly. They will set up a game and make your parents play. They will make you watch. But the rules, they aren't written fairly. Because there aren't any. And now...Now there is no one who can come to help because they've also got Mycroft." Sherlock took a shaky breath. Rosie nodded. She was crying, but she kept her voice steady.

"It's okay...Tell me the rest. I promised, remember?" Rosie clutched so hard now her little hands were turning white. Sherlock swallowed.

"I promised too. I won't fight or try to run. They will make the game scary like that. If I try to get out of it, try to help, then one of you will be hurt. But when I am dead, it will be done for good. No more games, or tricks or lies…"Sherlock smiled.

"That's not-"John bowed his head. Rose looked up at him. John's eyes slowly rose to meet hers. She took a deep breath through her tears. She wanted her Dad to hear her say this. So he would know.

"I have to watch, right? They'll make me be there with you in the end?" Rosie looked at Sherlock. Sherlock nodded.

Rosie smiled.

"Well, I told you, didn't I, silly? Bad times and good times...And one last time. I won't leave. I'll be brave if you'll be brave." Rosie smiled.

The sun was coming up over London. The ginger laughed.

"Well, now. I got that on camera! And it will make a lovely manifesto when this goes to the Times. We've a rendezvous with death. Told from the lips of an angel. Come on then…" The ginger closed his phone. He nodded to the door. Rosie helped Sherlock up. Then, her Dad. John was staring at her in amazement as she stretched out her little hand.

"You can beat the game, right?" She grinned.

"I...Yes." John nodded. Rosie smiled.

"For once, I believe you're telling the truth." She turned to her Mum then. Mum who reached out a shaky hand to her. Rosie kissed her Mum's hand.

"It's okay. If you and Daddy win, rules or no...Then, all of the bad you did will be made right." She nodded firmly. Then, they were all led downstairs. Rosie holding hands with Mum and Dad as long as she could. Sherlock talking quietly with Mycroft and Anthea as they were led to the same street corner where Sherlock used to busk for his meals.


	14. Chapter 14

**Man on Fire**

(named for the theme song of the movie Man on Fire)

Sherlock gasped. Rosie took his hand. There in the center of the square where he'd busked was a stake, like they made in the Renaissance, to execute heretics on. There were piles upon piles of firestarter wood stacked around one long pole. There were already chains affixed to it and a stairway of rubber tires for him to climb so high.

That wasn't why Sherlock had gasped. Rosie thought so at first. No, it would have been a tender world.

There at the foot of the stake were all the lonely people that had ever known or loved Sherlock Holmes. Raz was standing there with Annie. They had ancient Mrs. Hudson in a wheelchair. Even then, that was not why Sherlock had gasped.

Greg was standing there, hands twisting in a sweater he'd accidentally pulled off of a woman's shoulders. The woman was Rosie's Auntie Molly. She was older now. With graying hair, and tired eyes. But Rosie could see now what she meant when she'd told her all those long lost love stories. The person she'd loved all her life, that went away overseas.

"It was you." Rosie looked up at Sherlock. Sherlock who gaped as Molly stumbled to him.

"You-You were dead...For 10 years, dead. And then...And you came back just in time for me to say hello. So you could go again." Molly was crying now. Sherlock nodded.

"I can do this. I can win this game." John put up his fists. He was ready to play. Mary stepped forward.

"There has to be another way. I am the one…"Mary swallowed when the ginger turned on her. His teeth were gritted.

"Yes, dear. You are the one. This is what it's like to play a game where all the cards are against you. This is what it's like to lose everything and everyone you ever held dear. Because you can't...Neither of you can win this game, and your daughter will never forgive you. Not for the vows you've made and broken. Not for the end of her innocence. Not for the death of her saint." The ginger nodded to his companions. Molly reached out then and took Sherlock by the coat.

"Molly." He said her name with such reverence.

"I thought that...You'd never come back." Her lips were quaking as she touched his with shaking fingertips. He smiled.

"I was always with you, wasn't I, Molly Hooper?" He was smiling when they ripped his coat off of him. Tore his body away from Molly's admiration and Rosie's fond hand. They thrust him into John's arms.

"He was your sacrificial lamb. Take him up there yourself." The order was barked before it was processed.

"What? You godless piece of-"John was shaking his head. A gun was drawn on Rosie. Molly swept her into her arms before she knew to flinch. Sherlock turned to John whose face was green now. He nodded.

"It's not you...It's not you. She will forgive you, John. The innocence of children is far more resilient. Please...Do your best and fail me. It's alright. I won't love you any less. But don't fail her…"Sherlock nodded. John closed his eyes.

"It's not you, John."

"Shh…"John dragged Sherlock forward then. He climbed him up the stake, tears now falling rapidly down his face. His hands were shaking. Sherlock opened the manacles and placed his wrists in them.

"All you have to do is lock them. I'll do the rest." Sherlock smiled. John was hugging him now, head against his chest. Sherlock nodded.

"What a tender world it would have been, mm? You do what you can, but give her a chance." Sherlock waited patiently. John stood up. With a growl, he locked the handcuffs. Sherlock was suspended then in the nest of fire starter, tires, and chains. He grinned. Once again, he was high above them all.

John was shaking his head.

"Only a few days ago, I told you."

"I know and you still can. You might not save me, but you can win. That's why you need to live." Sherlock smiled. He looked sidelong at Rosie again. Then he looked back at his friend.

"The game is never over, John."

John was ripped unceremoniously away from Sherlock then, kicking and biting at the people who were doing this to his family.

"I bloody well will prove it to you. I'm going to save you this time. Mark my words!" John swung his fists, pointing at Sherlock.

"I know you will." Sherlock nodded.

"Now it's your turns." The ginger pulled Molly, who screamed and kicked, away from Rosie. Then, he pressed a bushel of roses in Molly's hands and a jug full of fuel in Rosie's.

"What's this for?" Rosie swallowed.

"You're going to pour it in his hair." The ginger grinned viciously. Rosie looked at Sherlock now, and she swallowed.

"Be brave, remember? It won't hurt me." Sherlock smiled. She nodded. Molly was crying into the roses.

"Come on, Auntie. It will be alright." Rosie took Molly's other hand. She led her forward.

"They're just being cruel...It's okay, you love him don't you? He's the one." Rosie smiled at Sherlock as Molly was compelled by the soldiers to stick the roses around him in the pyre. She was sobbing. Sherlock smiled, eyes following her all the way.

"You'll look after her for me, won't you, Rosie dear? In case this doesn't go well." Sherlock swallowed. Rosie was waiting her turn. By now her hands were shaking.

"I...I said I'd be brave. I'm not going to lie. I'm scared!"

"I know. But you can be brave anyway. Will you look after her?"

"Promise!"

"Then do as they told you." Sherlock nodded. By now, Rosie was crying.

"Rosie, remember what I told you? I never feel it. I only feel you." Sherlock smiled.

Rosie nodded. She fought with the cork of the fuel tub, squealing in frustration. Finally, Molly, with a little gasp, helped her. Rosie, annoyed, started to splash the fuel all over Sherlock.

"That's my girl." Sherlock smiled. Rosie took his face then, as the last bit of oil dripped in his eyes. She pushed that away with her sleeves.

"Well, here it is, mister. And I love you!" Rosie kissed Sherlock's forehead. He smiled.

"Brave girl."

Rosie stepped back, then she was torn back. She and Molly. To the foot of the pyre.

John and Mary had guns shoved into their hands. They were being led away with another team of gun-wielding freaks. Rosie nodded to her parents. They smiled back, scared out of their minds.

What could she do? She was a kid. She wasn't sure what influence she had.

And then like that, she just thought to do it. In that hour the strangest, she lifted her voice to sing.

 _When I find myself in times of trouble, my Mum Mary is there for me. And I know there'll be an answer. Let it be..._

And from the pyre, even as it was lit, a voice sang back, for Rosie evidently, despite having hated rubbish singing once before.

 _And in my hour of darkness, an angel-standing right in front of me. Brave until tomorrow! Let it be!_

That's when Rosie knew she could do this.


	15. Chapter 15

**When the Battle's Lost and Won**

Rosie would never fully remember what had happened away to the North where the gunshots sounded from. The game on the screens made no sense. Molly had tucked her to her chest so she wouldn't see the killing. She heard some of it over the loudspeakers. This had become a public event.

Still, she had no clue how her mother came back, with blood on her clothes, before all the other contenders. They had won the game somehow.

She watched as her Dad jumped from a building, knife tucked in his teeth like a pirate. Whatever that horrible game had been, he had won it. Just as the fire overtook the pyre and Sherlock's last attempt to comfort Rosie had died away with many loud hacks.

John dove into the pyre from the pole, sliding to Sherlock in the heart of it. He used the knife in his teeth to pop the now mostly melted manacles open. Then, grabbing him, he rolled out of the fire, down through the sickly burning rose petals and out to the street where Rosie had fallen onto her knees.

Sherlock coughed one loud hacking train of coughs as John beat the flames out of their clothes. He gave a soft groan and coughed again, spitting up a mouthful of blood and ashes.

Rosie broke free of Molly's shaking arms. She ran and dived to Sherlock's side. By now, her mother was kneeling there as well. John had drawn Sherlock up onto his lap.

"I told you, you git. I told you that I would save you." John grinned. Sherlock smiled. He had been saved.

Just not in time.

He coughed and wheezed. His hand twisted in John's vest. Mary took John's shoulders, letting out a soft cry.

"What is it?"

"No...Now, look. I didn't go to the trouble of saving you just now for you to check out. Damn it! Sherlock!" John slapped Sherlock's cheek. He was wheezing and then he wrenched away from John and vomited, blood coming up his nose. He was making choking sounds. John took his pulse.

"Oh, Christ! Someone call an ambulance." John started searching his pockets for his medical tools. He rolled his eyes.

"Christ! Someone bring Me a kit." He pulled out of his jacket and rolled it up, propping Sherlock's feet for shock. He kept his head in his lap.

"J-J…" Sherlock was trying to talk.

"No...Don't. You're not! You are not doing this again you infernal, completely inconsiderate bastard!" John laid his face in Sherlock's hair, taking his pulse again.

Rosie wasn't sure about anything that happened on that day. Many years later, she'd never totally remembered. Except for what she did next.

"Sherlock?" She reached passed her Dad and laid a hand on his chest. His heart was flailing like a fish in a pan of hot oil. And she knew.

He smiled and took her hand in one of his shaking ones.

"Is it time?" Rosie swallowed. John looked at her, eyes wide. Sherlock smiled. He smiled through his teeth that were bloody and blackened from the massive amount of smoke.

"No..No! Just..Get me that bloody kit!" John shrieked. Mary ran to get it and stumble ran to bring it back.

"Sherlock! It's alright. You're alright!" Mary opened the kit for John. John started scrambling through a variety of syringes. Rosie would learn later on in life that meant he was having a massive heart attack because of all the smoke he'd breathed in.

Molly wrapped her arms around Rose from behind. She was crying. Sherlock smiled at her too. For a moment, Rosie wondered if Molly's forlorn love had been returned in a weirdly Sherlockian way.

Now Uncle Greg was close. And Mycroft. And Anthea. And others that Rosie wasn't paying attention to. An ambulance wailed on its way down the road. London had also sent the army out and they were piling out of trucks.

"Sherlock, don't be silly! If you're in pain, you can let go. Everyone will be alright. I will look after them." Rosie Watson wasn't sure if she was old enough yet to truly understand death as a concept. She just didn't want him to hurt anymore.

Sherlock smiled at her. All eyes for her, even as blood ran down his nose from having inhaled so much debris. Rosie smiled at him. She reached her sleeve and cleaned up his face.

"You can let go now, Sherlock. Everything's going to be okay. Nothing has to hurt." Rosie held his face. He smiled at her again. And his eyes looked up at John. Then they rolled in his head.

Rosie felt her hand over his heart. The music that was in him was silent now. And she knew what this would mean. That she had to be brave from now on.


	16. Chapter 16

**Happily Ever After**

 _ **30 years later**_

After that terrible day, the news covered everything from the arrests of the surviving Ginger League to the terrible public forensics into this act of terrorism, and even Sherlock's funeral. Mycroft was able to keep everything hush-hush. The Watsons grieved in peace. Molly moved in to help with John, who was confined to his bed for a while. She needed help too.

John Watson continued living. Today, he was an old, old man with 7 practices and a large fleet of mobile clinics devoted to UNICEF. He traveled the world many times, some of those times with Mary, other times with Rosie. They told the story of Sherlock everywhere they went, becoming ambassadors of peace in the world.

Today, Rosamund Watson had risen in the ranks of English policy reform and peace campaigns all the way to the top. This was the day she was to be publicly declared the Prime Minister of England. She was 40 years old with 3 adopted children of her own and a man who would soon become her husband.

Rosie stood in a ceremony parlor waiting for her old parents to get here. She smiled as she fiddled with the buttons of her suit coat. It was eerily quiet in here with her children gone with their nanny and her husband-to-be waiting in the audience, caught by traffic because of his own tardiness. She chuckled.

Even though she was standing in the silence, she was not alone.

"Ah, yes. Well, you knew you'd have to be here today, didn't you? You are the reason for the hour, Sherlock Holmes." Rosie lifted a marble urn to the parlor room mirror, sitting it on the table. All these years, and she had never done away with his ashes. She wanted him to be near. It wasn't the same as grieving, she found. His urn was a fond companion, not a shadowy reminder of the dead.

She looked up at the mirror playing with a stray strand of hair. A gasp escaped her. She was far too old for fairy tales, but one had come to life right here. His reflection. She turned.

He was young again. Younger than she was now at 40 years old. He was the same age that he was when he'd been her father's best man. He even now wore the suit and carried the hat. He studied her intensely.

"You came a far long way, didn't you?" He whistled softly in the ears of her imagination. She chuckled.

"It was only because of you. I've spent my whole life telling the world. You saved me, dear. I will never forget that not as long as I preside over England." She smiled. His eyes, in her mind perhaps, were still shining with pride.

"Brave girl." Sherlock smiled and winked. Then he was gone.

And Dad was in the room. Old now. Sporting a thick white mustache. Walking again on the cane of his grief. This time, after Sherlock, he'd never been able to give it up again.

His hand was in his shock white hair. His eyes were wide.

"I'm senile yet...I thought...For certain that he…"John chuckled. And Rose shook her head.

"No, he was there. I saw him too. Only, I assumed I'd imagined him." Rose stepped closer to her Dad. He was smiling now. He adjusted her suit collar.

"Mm, I suppose then he decided to turn up today." John smiled, looking his daughter up and down.

"And because of him, England got a Prime Minister for this day and time. My daughter, leader of the English people. Well, but Rosie, dear. You certainly aren't a baby now." John laughed as he hugged his child. She smiled, hugging him back. They stood back from each other laughing.

"In a way, I am still that little girl he found on the sidewalk, singing for coins." Rose smiled. John nodded.

"Mm, remember all of it, dear. The ridiculous madness, the fear, the laughter _all of it. That was Sherlock Holmes. He knew England better than anyone ever could. If any spirit can give you guidance, then it will be his." John looked up at the urn and smiled.

Just then the doors came open. Mary stepped in. The peace in her mother's old eyes was something Rose was still getting used too. Maybe her demons had gotten old with her and Sherlock's ghost had gotten louder. She'd outlived her sins at last and grown to be thankful for their price.

"Well, Roger's still late. But Auntie Molly and Uncle Greg will be here on time." Mary still smiled cheekily whenever their names were said together. After all the years, and the sorrows, Greg and Molly bonded over the care they'd had for Sherlock Holmes and then found love in one another. Add that to Rosie Watson's book of lonely people made right by this sacrifice.

"Come along then, Mum, Dad, and Sherlock too if you're lingering around. England and the chase awaits! And the game is never over!" Rosie took each of her parents by the arm. She drew a deep breath and closed her eyes even as the sacred hall of office swelled with the violin.

The hero of the hour may remain unsung, but Rose Watson would never forget. He had been the reason for her life, her mantra, and religion. She would carry that with her until the music in her too was silent.

 **_THE END_**

 **(A.N.: For Eli, because we were born to die. RIP)**


End file.
